


Taking Care of a Fallen Star

by dont_be_shy



Category: The Edge Chronicles, The Edge Chronicles - Paul Stewart & Chris Riddell, The Edge Chronicles: Midnight Over Sanctaphrax
Genre: M/M, Mind Storm, Sanctaphrax, Slash, Slow Burn, Twig is baby
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2020-11-15 09:54:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20864300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dont_be_shy/pseuds/dont_be_shy
Summary: Twig Verginix has lost his mind and Cowlquape is helping him through it.Alternate Reality where Cowlquape helps the Professor of Darkness take care of Twig before he gets his memory back.(This is a rewrite of my old work.)





	1. Sub-Professor of Light

**Author's Note:**

> Some of it may not fit with canon, because this is an au. I will try not to make it too far fetched. ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ✿たのしむ！！！

Cowlquape Pentephraxis has just overheard sky shattering news. His father, Ulbus Pentephraxis, met his demise early that morning by means of shrapnel from an unnamed skyship. His legs shake and become less sure of themselves as he tries to remain in touch with where he is heading. 

He looks up numbly toward the commotion ahead of him. For a moment, he attempts to grasp what he is seeing. He has stumbled upon the Professor of Darkness heaving a lanky individual from the hanging basket and onto the platform rather awkwardly. 

Cowlquape takes an unsure step back, hoping not to be noticed or singled out in any way. He would be of no use, and isn’t sure if he is stable enough to handle another confrontation after his run in with Vox.

He peers at the youth beside the Professor with acute interest. His hair is matted, skin near translucent, and his clothes are threadbare, as if he had been in a brawl with a wild animal. But there is no blood to be seen. Cowlquape reaches up to touch his lips, worrying at his fingernails. 

Who is this strikingly odd individual, and why is the Professor of Darkness carrying him about in such a way? 

Cowlquape’s amusement with the situation before him leads to him forgetting his own troubles for a moment. He takes an unsteady and almost microscopic step forward, trying to inch his way past the scene unscathed. 

‘You there, lad!’

He jumps. Shaken almost to the core at being called upon, he loses his grip on the barkscrolls he holds in his arms. He doesn’t try to pick them up. 

‘Who me, sir?’ He stammers, going still. 

With a small glance of consideration, the Professor of Darkness is speaking once more. 

‘Yes, you,’ he said. ‘Help me get Tw- er, my friend to the School of Light and Darkness and, er...’ 

Cowlquape trips into action, hopping over his barkscrolls and quickly bracing himself against the weight of the mysterious youth. He positions him on his back to evenly distribute the weight, otherwise he would most likely collapse. 

‘Of course, sir. At once sir,’ he tenses a bit in the eyebrows as he exerts himself. 

‘I take it you can keep your mouth shut,’ said the Professor of Darkness, beginning to lead Cowlquape toward the school. ‘I don’t want any nosy academics disturbing my friend.’ 

Cowlquape feels a chilly breath of air on the back of his neck, and he shivers. 

‘Y...yes,’ said Cowlquape quietly. 

The Professor stops short, looking at Cowlquape as if he has just had an epiphany. 

Cowlquape’s eyes widen, and he expects the worst as the Professor of Darkness opens his mouth to speak. 

‘I do believe I have a proposition for you, lad,’ the Professor of Darkness says, stroking his beard in thought. Cowlquape lets out a short breath. 

‘Sir?’ He asks, knees buckling a bit as he stands with the weight of a fourthling on his back. His heart pounds as the Professor ponders. 

‘What is your name, lad?’ 

That is a simple enough question. 

‘Cowlquape, if it pleases you,’ Cowlquape replies, ‘junior sub-acolyte of Sanctaphrax.’ 

‘Junior sub...’ the Professor trails off, lost in thought. ‘An undertowner, by the looks of your robes, rich father in the leagues, I’d bet.’ 

At this, the Professor continues his stroll, more leisurely than before. Cowlquape grunts with the weight, but manages to keep up despite the ache of his shoulders. His heart still hammered in his chest, wondering what exactly the Professor was meaning by a proposition. 

‘Yes sir, my father is-‘ he swallowed. ‘_was_ a leaguesman.’ 

‘Hm, yes, yes,’ the Professor muttered on, already past this point of interest. Cowlquape looks dumbly up at the large door to the school of Light and Darkness. The stranger on his back twitches in the stillness. 

The Professor doesn’t face Cowlquape but instead the door, hands clasped behind his back. Cowlquape glances at him out of the corner of his eye, wondering if there was something he was supposed to be doing. 

‘Lad, now that you have been exposed to my er, friend, there simply is no choice.’ With a final nod to himself, the Professor turns to Cowlquape and looks him straight in the eyes for the first time. The corners of Cowlquape's mouth pull downward at the foreboding statement. 

‘I need you to help me look after him. Frankly, going about my business everyday and also lugging the lad about spells disaster. Having a personal er, assistant would really help him get by better than I can. I fear he may lose his mind completely without contact from another living being.’ 

Cowlquape’s mouth hangs open in shock. _Him_, an assistant to this- he peers behind him at the pale person whose forehead is pressed into his shoulder- _fourthling_? A junior sub-acolyte was never called upon for such an important task. 

‘Excuse me, but, um, I’m _nothing_, I’m just a junior sub-acolyte- I’ve never-‘ Cowlquape stammered. The Professor of Darkness places a firm hand on his shoulder. 

‘Well, it’s too late now.’

Cowlquape is tasked with dragging the boy up the stairs. His legs shake and sweat gathers at his brow. He shuffles up the last few steps and has to hold his breath to keep from collapsing. 

‘In here, lad, set him down in that hanging armchair,’ the Professor of Darkness advises. 

Cowlquape quickly follows the instructions, setting the character down and then panting in exhaustion. The chair swings mildly in response, and the strange youth almost slips out without correcting himself.

Cowlquape watched on in simple distraction, Not really feeling in place to help the struggling individual, or rather un-struggling, since he seemed content with being half off of the chair.

‘Now, lad, this is going to be a strange task, but consider it as your first chance to prove yourself, ahem,’ The Professor of Darkness strode toward the door and went out. He peeked back in rather airily. ‘I need his clothes.’ 

Cowlquape frowns and glances toward the lax youth beside him. 

‘But, sir-‘ 

‘We’re all men here, lad, no need to get all embarrassed,’ the Professor chuckled. ‘I need to collect samples from his clothes. There are tiny particles I took notice of on the way here, they may explain how and why he came down the way he did and why he seems to have lost his memory.’ 

Cowlquape surrenders to what he has to do. He turns to the mysterious individual and tries his best to get a good grip on the front of his clothes, hands sliced by his hammelhorn skin waistcoat. 

He lifts up and tries to reposition him, the other youth’s eyes glued to the large circular window on the far side of the room. Large soggy clouds soak out any sunlight, and distantly there is the rumble of thunder. 

Cowlquape loses his balance and ends up falling straight onto the other boy, the hanging armchair left spinning behind them.

This causes the aloof youth to finally look at him for the first time. Cowlquape scrambles off of him, blushing in embarrassment. 

‘Goodness, I’m so sorry,’ he squeaked, heart pounding. ‘I suppose I’m not as stable as before.’ 

The lad looks at Cowlquape for a moment, sitting up and seeming to finally get a grip on the world around him.

Cowlquape watches in awe as he shakily begins to climb onto his feet. For a moment Cowlquape just looks up at him, then is brought into action by seeing the other wobble dangerously. 

Cowlquape catches him and slowly helps him get his clothes off. It is as if Cowlquape is _meant_ to help him, his hands gentle and on autopilot. 

The youth is left in underclothes and a tie, and Cowlquape holds the rest. 

Cowlquape guides the mysterious youth into the hanging armchair, and turns to bring the clothes to the Professor of Darkness. 

The hallways are spacious. Shadows cling to the stone like ancient webs, sparkling with each bolt of lightning from the sky outside. Cowlquape can feel the wind tunneling in from the balconies. 

Once he makes it to the Laboratory in which the Professor of Darkness is awaiting him, he is quickly relieved of the pile of clothes and turned away. 

‘You might want to find him some robes, look around, I recall there being a chifforobe in the study.’ The door is closed and Cowlquape returns to the study. 

The other boy has now made it to the window. His nose is pressed to the glass as if he couldn’t get close enough. Cowlquape looks on in bemusement, looking around for the chifforobe the Professor had spoken of. 

He finds a smoothly carved piece of furniture. He clicks it open. Peering inside, he sees velvety material hanging upon the wooden beam. He reaches up and gently runs a hand over one robe, mouth dry at how expensive it feels to the touch. 

After stroking the piece of clothing for a moment, he pulls it down, and another like it. He slips his own on while the other boy continues to stare out of the window. 

‘Wow,’ Cowlquape murmurs, hugging himself pleasantly. He holds up the second one, larger than his own, and turns to the mysterious second person in the room. 

Shock overcomes him as he realizes there is no one else with him. Not at the window, not on the armchair and not even on the ground. 

He rushes out of the study in a blind panic, almost tripping over the robe in his hands.


	2. The Warmth of the Stove

Cowlquape tosses the robe over his shoulder in order to get it out of his way. He looks this way and that. Where could the other boy have possibly wandered off to? 

Cowlquape swallows. 

There were so many ways to fall to your death in the School of Light and Darkness. Cowlquape is gripped with a powerful fear. He takes a deep breath and tries to think clearly. 

Then he hears it. 

Far off, echoing down the corridor, there is a deep and mournful howl. Cowlquape feels tears leap to his eyes and he wipes them away in bewilderment. 

Staying away from the noise isn’t an option. His feet move on their own, and he follows the far off bruit. There are ripples of light on the ceiling from the lightning outside. The quiet patter of rain against the school walls follows the young lad as he locates the source of the howl. 

When he finds the strange individual from before sitting on the railing of a balcony like it’s the most natural thing in the world, Cowlquape can’t say he’s surprised. In fact, the youth looks like he belongs there, balancing on the edge. What _is_ a little strange are the sparks of light bouncing from his skin. It looks as if the other is being pelted with fireflies. 

Still, Cowlquape quickly steps into the rain and tries to urge him down. The youth is stubborn, but eventually Cowlquape convinces him to stand behind the railing. 

Cowlquape decides that letting the other howl isn’t going to cause any harm. He stands inside the domed canopy of the balcony, safe from the rain. Though, he is soaked from the previous trek into the weather. 

The howling continues long into the night. Cowlquape eventually begins to drift off against the carved portalway.

He jumps awake when he feels a gentle hand on his shoulder. His eyes snap open urgently, and he sees the other standing before him. 

Cowlquape rubs his eyes, peering around.

‘Maybe we should get to bed,’ Cowlquape says with a laugh. He turns and leads the way slowly, missing the expression of interest the other youth feeds him. 

The storm seems to have quieted down at this point. The loudest sounds are the very distant receding booms of thunder and the tapping of rain against stone. 

Cowlquape opens the door to the study and lets the other enter before him. He decides that putting on the wet robe would be counter productive, so he places it in front of the stove to help dry it out. He pulls his own robe off and sets that down too. 

All the while, the mysterious figure was standing near the window once more, longingly fogging up the glass with his breath.

Cowlquape studied the other for a while. His unkempt figure seemed not to bother him at all. Cowlquape wondered who this strange youth was before he became this. He wondered whether he had truly lost his mind.

The silence is palpable. Cowlquape stands near the stove, the heat warming his chilled fingers. 

After a moment, he turns to the other, heart pounding.

‘I was,’ he begins, ‘wondering what your name was.’ 

The figure twitches, and Cowlquape sees his eyes turn in the reflection of the window. For a moment they are looking at each other. Cowlquape shivers at the feeling of a cold hand running up his back. He knows no one is there, but by instinct he turns. 

The contact is subsequently broken, and Cowlquape does not receive an answer. He thinks for a moment, looking at the stark boy at the window. 

‘I suppose...’ he mutters to himself, dreading what he has to do. ‘You should come and sit by the stove.’ 

The youth makes a sound of disagreement as Cowlquape takes him by the arm and tugs him toward the fire. Cowlquape laughs at the unhappy expression that has made its way onto the other’s face. 

‘Once you warm up you can return to the window, alright?’ 

The youth looks at him as if he is insane, and Cowlquape puts another log in the stove. He might as well do his job right if this strange person really depends on him. 

‘Come on, I’ll sit with you.’ 

Cowlquape sits down and crosses his legs. Reluctantly, the other follows suit. Bony knee to bony knee, they share the warmth of the burning logs. 

Cowlquape glances out of the corner of his eye at the other boy. He’s staring intently at the purple flickering light through the rusty stove holes. Cowlquape sighs through his nose. 

He jumps, suddenly alerted by the feeling of a gentle weight on his shoulder. He looks over and sees that the boy has laid his head there, eyes finally closed. Cowlquape, for some strange reason, feels a large tension leave his own body. 

He tries not to move. The crackling of the burning wood feels as if it’s bouncing off his face like sparks. 

‘Twig.’ Came the raspy word. ‘My name, it’s Twig.’ 

The older of the two lets out a long breath. Cowlquape stares with an open mouth at him. 

At Twig. 

His name feels familiar to Cowlquape, as if he has heard it before. 

He lets the boy rest for as long as he can take the pressure of his weight. 

‘Well, Twig, I think you’d feel _much_ better under the covers, huh?’ He says softly, prodding him awake. 

Twig murmurs something, and Cowlquape helps him unsteadily to his feet. 

Cowlquape had seen beforehand a cluster of dormitories throughout the hall, which he believes he will now sleep in after his promotion. He leads Twig to the previous bedroom of the late Professor of Light. 

On the door, he is surprised to find a note hanging on a small iron nail. He plucks it off, and looks over it quickly. 

_Cowlquape,_

_Since I fear that leaving Twig alone may cause him harm, I have gotten a second cot for you to sleep on and situated it near to the door. Make sure he doesn’t wander about in the night, him getting lost would be disastrous, not to mention if he should end up at an untimely demise._

_-Professor of Darkness_

Cowlquape looks at Twig and then opens the large carved doors to the room. There are many instruments used to, Cowlquape guesses, measure light. Many of them had obviously been custom made for the Professor. 

Twig squints into the room as if he is having trouble seeing. Cowlquape himself has to shield his eyes as prisms of light bounce about the room. He locates the source of the light in the far corner, tucked away and almost impossible to see. Twig stumbles in as Cowlquape hurries over and covers the small lantern that is responsible for the blinding lights. 

The room fell into darkness, and Cowlquape grunted in frustration. There had to be another way to create light that wasn’t painful for the both of them. Somewhere behind him there is the squeak of a mattress, and Cowlquape realizes Twig has found the bed in the darkness. Cowlquape uncovers the lantern and roams into the hall to find one of the old candelabras. 

He drags it in over the stoney floor, thankfully still lit. Then he hurries over and covers the lantern resolutely with a tired huff. 

When he looks behind him, Twig is lying on the bed, limbs spread. 

Cowlquape blushes as he walks over and points to the boots on his feet. 

‘Wouldn’t you be more comfortable without these on?’ 

The only answer he receives is a shrug of bemusement. Cowlquape sighs and begins to slide the boots off of the other. Somehow, being the assistant to the Sub-Professor of Light wasn’t much different from the position he had been in before.


	3. Warm Mornings

Cowlquape tucks himself into the cot after taking care of Twig. His head hits the pillow and he lets out a small groan. The day had been so eventful! 

Cowlquape turns on his side, burrowing into the pillow and pulling the covers up to his ear. He looks up toward the bed where Twig is lying quite still on top of the overspread. He smiles to himself, finally closing his eyes. 

Outside of the large window, rain plips against the glass, and a violet sea of clouds rolls past. 

With one large yawn, that echoes about the chamber, Cowlquape falls asleep. 

*** 

Deep into the night, a formidable bout of thunder causes Cowlquape to jump awake. His heart pounds hard until he realizes what exactly had happened.

Until then, his dreams had been of the the most blissful of things. He dreamed that he had amassed every historical barkscroll recounting Kobold the Wise’s life on the Edge. To Cowlquape, the next best thing to meeting Kobold the Wise was reading about him. 

Cowlquape shakes his head to snap out of the addlepated half-dream he was stuck in. The rain was still splattering distantly against the glass window. 

Cowlquape reaches up to rub his eyes, and starts when his hand meets something wet. He immediately recoils, dread settling in his stomach. He rubs his fingers together and the cold, wet _whatever_ it is, spread on his fingertips. 

‘What is th...’ he freezes. _Arms are around him._ His eyes are so wide they may be stuck like that forever. 

He turns as best as he can after a silent moment of terror and realizes it’s only Twig. He lets out a breath, the adrenaline cooling in his body. Then, a deep flush floods across his face as he finally takes in the situation. 

Twig has his arms around him, and they are somehow now in the same bed.

Twig must’ve moved him during the night, Cowlquape thinks. Maybe Cowlquape wouldn’t be that good of a nightwatch for the individual. He feels Twig’s arms tighten around him, and he shivers, left to wonder what exactly the wet stuff on his cheek can possibly be. 

He can feel Twig’s nose against his ear, and his breath hits his cheek in even succession. Cowlquape timidly reaches back and touches Twig’s jaw. The skin is warm, and is obviously in need of a good scrubbing. He reaches even farther back and comes in contact with Twig’s black locks of hair. The tufts are slipping out of their ties, but the dirt and dust cakes the strands in place anyway. Cowlquape cringes to himself and decides that he’ll try his best to just get back to sleep. 

Twig twitches from behind him, and lets out a large yawn. Cowlquape tenses and pretends to be asleep as the other gets resituated behind him. The squeaks of the seemingly ancient bed lessen and Cowlquape is finally struck with a realization. 

It was most likely drool on his cheek. 

Cowlquape blanches, flustered to the core as he uses his sleeve to wipe the cooling, gel-y, liquid off of the side of his face. 

He decides it could be _worse_ and tries to just sleep. Around his middle, the two arms ground him, and he can feel the gentle thump of a heart beat against his back, them being in only their underclothes. 

Eventually Cowlquape drifts back to sleep, leaving the questions of the night behind him. 

In the morning, Cowlquape is greeted by the grey overcast of the daytime sky. He sits up and takes in the unfamiliar surroundings, recollecting the events that led to him being here. The previous day, he had been placed as an assistant to the Sub-Professor of Light. They had shared a nice night of howling, and then they had both gone to bed. 

So where is Twig? 

Cowlquape’s heart jumps to his throat as he realizes Twig is nowhere in sight. He climbs out of bed and his bare feet meet the cool marble floor. He quickly rushes through the doors, which bounce off the walls. The bang carries down the hallway. The very empty hallway. 

Twig can be anywhere. 

Cowlquape runs this way and that, searching for his lost acquaintance. He runs until he has no ideas left, and realizes that, maybe he can’t find Twig. Maybe he really failed. 

With his head hanging low and dread dragging down his feet, he makes his way toward the laboratory where the Professor of Darkness usually works. He tries to formulate a good apology, and decides that if the apology wouldn’t work he’d beg not to be thrown out, to no avail. 

After a moment of staring at the large, chiseled wooden door, Cowlquape knocks. The sound is small and almost unnoticeable. Cowlquape is filled with foolish relief at not receiving an answer, and is just deciding to run for it when the door swings open with a clunk. 

Cowlquape takes a deep breath. 

‘I’m sorry Professor, sir, I think Twig May have escaped and I’m afraid maybe he may get hurt or someone may hurt him or-or- I’m so sorry I should be thrown out immediately...’ 

The Professor of Darkness lets out a gentle hum of amusement, eyes patient. 

‘Hoo-hoo, for a timid lad you sure can talk fast,’ The Professor of Darkness says. ‘Not to worry, your precious Twig is right in here, safe and sound.’ 

Cowlquape’s shoulders droop as he takes in the news. 

The whole thing had been completely harmless. 

He walks into the laboratory and closes the big door behind him. The door is much bigger than him so he stumbles back awkwardly. Then, he turns around and looks for his friend. 

Twig is sitting on the wooden workbench, now bare-chested. His undershirt lies neatly to the side, presumedly for further inspection by the Professor of Darkness. 

‘What exactly...’ Cowlquape utters quietly.

‘Ah, I’m happy you asked. I believe you have noticed some peculiarities with the lad?’ The Professor inquires, opening up a wooden box that holds an assortment of medical instruments Cowlquape visibly cringes at. 

‘Yes, Sir.’ 

‘Well,’ the Professor continues. ‘There is a reason for that. I have come to the conclusion that, out in Open Sky, he encountered something that perhaps altered him from the inside out.’ 

Cowlquape watches him pull out a large, refulgent, needle. He swallows thickly, suddenly very concerned for Twig’s wellbeing. 

‘What I’m trying to say is, I’m going to collect his DNA and sample it to make sure he is still a regular fourthling like you and I.’ 

Cowlquape glances at Twig, who is innocently staring out of the large, curved window on the far side of the room. 

‘I see.’ Cowlquape looks at the ground and frowns in thought. ‘Sir, is it ethical to-‘ 

‘My boy,’ the Professor places a warm hand on his shoulder and Cowlquape goes silent, blushing madly in embarrassment. ‘He won’t mind a few tests here and there. Once he’s back to normal I’ll tell him everything. But for now, science needs him dearly. Care to talk to him while I sterilize the needle?’ 

Cowlquape watches the Professor busy himself and turns to Twig. 

_Talk to him?_

He can’t think of anything to say. The night before comes flooding back to him. Cowlquape realizes that Twig is the only person who has ever held him that way, and maybe the only person that ever will.

He does not bring it up. 

Instead, he reaches forward and gently takes Twig’s hand in his. It is very cold. Cowlquape frowns and squeezes it between both of his hands, hoping to provide some warmth. 

Cowlquape watches as Twig diverts his attention from the window to the hands gripping his own. His eyes turn, unblinking, first to the hands, and then up to Cowlquape’s face. Cowlquape freezes for a moment. Green meets green in a flash of meaningful pigment, and then Twig is looking back at the window. 

Cowlquape can’t tell if Twig is squeezing his hand back or not, but suddenly Cowlquape’s heart is beating faster. 

‘Alright, now, help Twig hold still...’ the Professor readies the needle somewhere around Twig’s arm. Cowlquape can’t look. He was sure that Twig wasn’t moving any time soon as he gazes out of the window. 

It is quick work. The Professor drops the needle into a small vial and corks it. 

‘Thank you lad. Now, why don’t you bring the both of you some warm stew up to the study?’ 

Cowlquape’s stomach thinks that that is a wonderful idea. The Professor ties some gauze around Twig’s arm, and Twig finally snaps awake. 

Cowlquape is still very aware of the coolness of Twig’s skin. The icy flesh Makes Cowlquape shiver, and Cowlquape decides first to get Twig wrapped in his rightful robe and situated in front of the stove. 

Cowlquape leads him back, walking slow so Twig doesn’t lag behind too much. The Sub-Professor seems to have ardor for looking at the sky. Cowlquape watches his eyes flick from window to window, as if he would miss something if he didn’t. 

Once in the study, it was once more a struggle to place Twig in front of the stove and away from the window. Cowlquape works under a dissatisfied pair of eyes as he helps get the robe over Twig’s head.

He pats Twig’s shoulders and looks him in the face. Twig looks back with an unreadable expression. The difference in height can be calculated, and Cowlquape feels timid as he takes a step back. 

‘Here, Professor, sit here, and I’ll bring us back some stew.’ 

Cowlquape points to the rug in front of the stove. Twig inches his way toward it unhappily. Cowlquape waits until he is seated before turning from him. 

‘I’ll be back, _please_ don’t run off, Professor...’ Cowlquape closes the door behind him. 

Cowlquape feels the stares of the Professors as he walks past them, and tries not to look at anyone there. The murmurs are kept at a low volume. Cowlquape is thankful he isn’t called out for something in particular. He reaches the stew pipe and fills two bowls to the brim. His hands shake as two apprentices crowd about him. 

‘Never seen you around here before, say, why’re you dressed like that?’ 

Cowlquape’s mortification cannot be hidden. He looks down at himself and realizes he’s only in the thin underclothes from the night before. He had taken care of Twig but not himself! 

‘Oh, um,’ Cowlquape feels his face redden, suddenly realizing why the professors may have been so interested in his appearance before. ‘I’m keeping them warm by the stove for now.’ 

The two apprentices hold back a bout of snickers and thankfully, leave him alone from then on. Cowlquape walks past the professors once more, trying even harder to hide the redness trailing down his face and neck. 

Once he gets back to the study he calmly places the stew down on a table and then grabs a pillow off of the lounge. He proceeds to scream as loud as he can into the stuffing, until his eyes water and he feels weak in the knees. 

He turns around slowly and sees that Twig has turned to look at him out of the corner of his eye. Cowlquape throws the pillow back in the general direction of the lounge and takes up the two bowls. Balancing them in his hands, he makes his way to the other boy on the floor. 

Twig watches him sit down beside him. His chest feels rather strange as Cowlquape hands him a bowl. 

With a large drawn out sigh, Cowlquape stares at the purple flames in the lufwood stove. He doesn’t say anything, only spoons stew up toward his mouth.


	4. The Lavatory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a more intimate chapter between the two, compared to the others!!

Cowlquape’s eyes widen as the contents of his spoon is pirated by the boy beside him. Cowlquape can’t really put the situation together before Twig is sitting back again, acting as if it hadn’t even happened. 

Dumbfounded, and a little surprised, Cowlquape looks down at the empty spoon in his hand.

‘Professor,’ he begins, not sure where to end. 

Twig looks meaningfully at his spoon and then at the bowl. Cowlquape swallows audibly and decides this isn’t that peculiar compared to all the rest of their time together. 

He gathers some more stew onto his spoon and holds it up, still a little surprised as Twig leans forward and eats it like it is a completely reasonable thing to do. 

Cowlquape continues to feed his friend, blushing madly as he sees Twig’s teeth graze the wood of the spoon. He doesn’t understand why feeding Twig brings him such satisfaction, but he doesn’t question it as much as he could.

Twig meets his eyes, green irises dancing under dark eyelashes. Cowlquape’s breath is taken away from him and he almost drops the spoon. 

After Twig eats one bowl and then is getting to half of the other, Cowlquape’s stomach growls and breaks the silence they had shared. Twig suddenly pulls away from the spoonful that is being held out to him, tilting his head at his caregiver. Cowlquape laughs, and his cheeks dust pink. 

‘I suppose I’m a bit hungry, too. But I can always go and get more-‘ Cowlquape stops short as Twig himself holds up a spoonful of stew. 

Cowlquape hesitates a little too long for Twig, it seems, because eventually the spoon is being pressed against the side of his mouth, begging for purchase. 

Cowlquape closes his eyes tightly and opens his mouth, feeling the cooled stew on his tongue. He can’t say that he has ever thought of this scenario before. His hands shake as he grips his knees, flustered almost to fainting. 

This all feels so strange to him. 

Twig helps him finish what had been left of the stew, seeming satisfied with himself for helping. Cowlquape watches him scrape the last spoonful out of the bowl and hold it out. Cowlquape opens his mouth by reflex and then gasps in amusement as Twig eats the spoonful instead. 

‘Well then, I see how it is,’ Cowlquape crosses his arms in mock umbrage as Twig laughs silently in front of him. 

Cowlquape has thought it almost impossible for the other to show amusement until now. But now that he has caught a glimpse of gaiety from the other, he appreciates the fact he has gotten to see it. 

Twig sits in front of him after having calmed from the excitement of his banter. Cowlquape takes the bowls and places them outside of the doorway. It’s strange that at one point _he_ had been the junior sub-acolyte that had carried discarded dishes from doorways.

That life felt almost an eternity away at this point.

Cowlquape walks back into the study, seeing that Twig had made his habitual migration to the window. He looks out unblinking, his face colored blue from the cloudy sky outside. Cowlquape hums in thought.

He thinks back to the night before, when he had reached back and felt the grime and dirt on his friend’s skin. He wonders if Twig cares at all about his own comfort. What if Twig is internally wishing to rid himself of the grime, but has forgotten how to do so? Cowlquape feels pity wrap around his heart and he thinks to himself. 

After a bit of consideration, he realizes that it’s his job to take care of Twig, and he has to do his best. That means that he will have to escort him to the lavatory and properly see to it that he gets cleaned up. Cowlquape blushes but sets his jaw and marches over to him. 

Twig has grown accustomed to Cowlquape’s dramatics, and looks at the lad out of the corner of his eye. Cowlquape blanches as he stands next to the other, trying to act like he’s staring out of the window too as he comes up with a good way to explain himself. 

‘I think you may need a bath. Do you feel like you need one?’ Cowlquape realizes that he didn’t sound particularly gentle, and is preparing to apologize when Twig nods to him. Cowlquape sighs in relief.

‘Oh, well, I’ll go and start a bath, and I’ll come back and get you, okay?’ Cowlquape taps the windowsill twice before scurrying off in search of the washroom. 

Once he finds it, he peeks in and is relieved to see that it isn’t in use. He walks over to the washbasin. It is metallic and cold. He lights a small fire underneath it and then slowly begins pouring buckets of collected rainwater into the tub. Up here in the School of Light and Darkness, there was a much larger supply of rainwater for washing. Cowlquape was used to sharing lavatory with a bunch of the sub-acolytes in the College of Cloud. The water was usually cold after all of the other higher-up apprentices had used the fire up. 

Cowlquape suddenly wants to bathe as well. He sighs, placing a towel on the edge of the basin and making his way back to the Sub-Professor of Light. 

Twig follows him to the lavatory, interest seemingly piqued as he sees the steaming bathwater. Cowlquape helps him get his clothes off, trying not to think about it too much as Twig stands before him in only a yellow scarf. 

‘You should take that off too, don’t you think? You’ll get it wet.’ Cowlquape reaches for the scarf, aiming to untie it, but Twig releases an animalistic growl, turning away quickly. Cowlquape stares at him, wondering how in Sky’s name a fourthling could ever make such a noise. 

Startled, but still task-driven, Cowlquape folds his hands in front of him and levels with Twig. 

‘I promise I’ll keep it right here on the chair for you. You don’t want a wet scarf do you? What if the colors fade?’ He questions, tilting his head. Twig looks at him with a frown, thinking it over. Then he unties the scarf very slowly, and places it on the chair. Cowlquape praises him as he helps him into the washbasin. 

Twig looks to be in bliss as he finally rests inside of the tub. Cowlquape stands to the side and smiles at the sight of Twig’s restful expression.

‘Do you know how to wash yourself?’ Cowlquape asks, blushing at the implications and hoping that Twig says yes. 

Twig shakes his head after a moment of contemplation, looking down at his hands silently. Cowlquape holds back a sigh and looks for a washcloth. 

He kneels down next to the washbasin, feeling the heat of the fire on his legs. He tries to keep his eyes away from _certain_ parts as he lathers the cloth with soap and begins scrubbing the other boy. 

As he washes Twig, he realizes the cloth isn’t working. There is no dirt to be seen. But he had been sure of the uncleanliness of the older lad beforehand... 

Baffled, he resumes the scrubbing, thinking he may just be crazy. He dips the rag in the water, and realizes that even the _water_ is unbelievably spotless. He looks at Twig with uncertainty, suddenly aware of the fact that the boy was glowing only a little bit in the lit up room.

As shocking of a revelation as it was, Cowlquape couldn’t help but convince himself he was seeing things. Twig looks out of the small window embedded in to side of the room quietly. 

Once Cowlquape had been able to reach every part of Twig he could handle without being too embarrassed, he began to slowly twist out the woodtrolls ties in his hair. 

At first Twig is reluctant to allow him access to his hair. He dips underneath the water until Cowlquape worries he will drown himself. Eventually Cowlquape convinces Twig he would put the ties in a safe place, and Twig settles down enough for Cowlquape to carefully untie all of the tufts. Cowlquape laughs at the way most of the hair remained in the shape of the woodtroll tufts after being in that style for so long. 

He cups water in his hands and slowly but surely drenches Twig's hair. It was a process to wash it, since Twig was still rather weary of Cowlquape. But once Cowlquape begins massaging the shampoo into his scalp Twig relaxes into his touch. 

Cowlquape realizes that had any of this happened under other circumstances, it would be very intimate.

At this point, it’s rather juvenile to have this kind of mindset. Cowlquape shakes his head and continues to scrub the other’s hair until he’s sure it’s clean. _Even if the water was immaculately clear._

Once everything was taken care of, he helps Twig out of the bath and wraps him in a heavy towel. Twig’s hair reaches his shoulders and small tendrils of water travel down his face. Cowlquape blushes as Twig stands there, for a moment unsure of what is supposed to happen then. 

Twig begins to shiver and Cowlquape sets to attempting at drying his hair. Once clean and washed, the hair is actually rather silky. Cowlquape soaks the water out and helps Twig get his underclothes and robes back on. Ceremoniously, Twig reties the scarf around his neck.

Once back in the study, Twig is shown the small woodtroll ties, but is at a complete loss as for how to tie his hair back up. Cowlquape frowns as tears gather at the boy’s eyes, and then fall down his cheeks. Meanwhile Twig stares emotionlessly at the ties in his hands. 

‘Don’t cry, Twig, it’s alright...’ Cowlquape pats his shoulder gently. ‘Say, I’m sure there’s a barkscroll in the Great Library that says something about how to tie them up. At least I hope so. I’ll go down in a moment and look. It may take a while but I’ll try my best to find it.’ 

Twig frowns at him and then takes Cowlquape by surprise as he embraces him. Cowlquape feels like he’s drowning in the expensively trimmed robe that Twig is wearing. He hugs back as best as he can, eyes closed tight. He feels bad for enjoying the hug so much. 

Afterwards, Cowlquape informs the Professor of Darkness that he is going to the Great Library. 

‘Bring Twig here, lad. I’ve a few tests I plan on conducting. Don’t worry, they’re quite harmless.’ The Professor of Darkness sets a bucket down on his work table and busies himself with other things as Cowlquape retrieves the Sub-Professor of Light. 

Once Twig is secure in the Professor of Darkness’s study, Cowlquape is on his way to the Great Library.


	5. Same Old Life With A Different Title

Cowlquape remembers to slip his robe on before trekking to the library. He feels strange strolling past the large laboratories and classrooms throughout the school. Perambulating through Sanctaphrax had been one of his favorite pass times. The spires and domes and all of the staircases were a stark contrast to the views of Undertown. While Sanctaphrax doorways and trails seemed to always lead you someplace higher, Undertown always led you someplace lower. 

Getting glances from the apprentices that littered the hallways and stood around the doorways like a flock of white ravens was normal. But Cowlquape feels his skin itch as they look at his new, expensive, sable colored robes with evident curiosity. If any of them recognize him at all, he knows seeing him in robes that illustrate his new position feels akin to a slap in the face. 

The chance of them recognizing him in any way was slim to none, though. They were most likely interested more in the curio he was wearing.

Cowlquape makes it out of the School, once more on a familiar street. He is struck by the realization that he had never come back for the barkscrolls he had dropped the previous day. He travels back past the landing stage he had first seen the Professor of Darkness and Twig on, looking near the wall for them. 

As he turned the corner, his eyes land on the tips of a pair of crakows, and he looks up, up, and farther up, before finally landing on a face he knew all too well. Fanned out in front of this person, was a worn and wood-weevil eaten barkscroll. Cowlquape felt dread build in his stomach as he took a step back and was forced to face this person head on in the quiet, empty street.

‘Looking for something, barkworm?’ Comes the chuntered inquiry as the barkscroll is rolled up and tucked into a side satchel. ‘Try as I might to understand why you’re so invested in these barkscrolls of yours, these silly scribbles are all complete nonsense. I suppose only someone as queer-minded as you could be entertained by it.’ 

Cowlquape doesn’t reply. His eyes follow the barkscroll and he holds back a frown. Why by Sky Vox had been reading a random barkscroll Cowlquape had dropped was beyond the lad. He couldn’t have known Cowlquape was even coming this way...

Cowlquape is yanked out of his thoughts as a hand grabs the fabric over his chest and lifts him up forcefully until the tips of his shoes scrape on the ground. He looks up at Vox, mouth agape and eyes wide. 

‘Are you even listening to me, scum?’ Vox wonders viciously. He looks down at Cowlquape’s attire and tilts him this way and that like a sack of flour.

‘What are you wearing? Are those... did you steal these from someone? Huh? Answer me, worm!’ Vox drops him and Cowlquape ends up on the ground looking up. 

‘N...no, I didn’t steal these from anyone! I-‘ Cowlquape realizes he shouldn’t convey any information that pertained to Twig. He stutters for a moment before Vox kicks him across the cheek.

Cowlquape shields his face and tries to weather the next few blows. Once they had subsided, Cowlquape takes a deep breath and tries to speak as calmly and strongly as possible. 

‘The Professor of Darkness simply l-let me in on a proposition. I didn’t steal from anyone!’ He squeaks, tensing in preparation for another jab of a heel. 

‘Believe me when I say that that is hard to believe runt,’ Vox says. ‘What was this so called ”proposition”?’

Cowlquape swallows. 

‘I can’t tell you, he said.’ Cowlquape grimaces, and angles his body away from Vox. 

‘This wouldn’t have anything to do with the howling last night, would it?’ 

Cowlquape’s eyes snap open in surprise. 

‘W...what?’ He says nervously. ‘Of course not!’ 

Vox grabs him by the scruff of his robe and Cowlquape is left choking in midair as his bully stares him down. 

‘You’re a bad liar.’

The next ten minutes are full of hits and kicks and jabs that are sure to leave bruises. Once Vox has taken revenge, he leaves. With Cowlquape’s barkscrolls, mind you. 

Cowlquape braces himself on the wall as he watches the retreating form of his tormentor. He feels the stinging bloom of a split lip and the throbbing pain of a bruise on his cheek. 

He takes a deep breath before returning on his original journey to the Great Library. Luckily enough for him, no one else singles him out. 

The Great Library always had a particular smell. 

It wasn’t a bad smell, it was just a smell only an ancient library could have. That being said, Cowlquape takes a large breath as he wonders in. 

He has walked the familiar path into the library numerous times throughout his residency in the floating city. It was through a small, gloomy, corridor. The library had windows far up at the top so there was a light at the end of the tunnel that led him on. 

Usually, he would choose one of the farther runged poles when he was searching for Ancient History or Kobold the Wise. Today though, he was looking for a more general passel of knowledge. He starts by combing through the barkscrolls that had fallen to the ground. Usually they were all rather thematic in their grouping.

He picks one up and scans it. The drawings are smudged and dark, and they look to be detailing a hulking beast of some kind. Cowlquape wipes away some dust and squints at the page. _Banderbears_. 

Those are in the Deepwoods, right? Cowlquape tucks that barkscroll in his satchel and picks up the next one. 

He mills through countless barkscrolls, all detailing about the Deepwoods. From Ironwood Pines to Trogs. Eventually, he decides it would be best to climb up the ladder nearest to the barkscrolls he has found.

Cowlquape is usually very skittish when it comes to extreme elevation, but something about the unbudging rods he uses to climb makes him feel a bit safer. Though, once he makes it to the top his fear is a different story. 

The canopy of barkscrolls meets him at the apogee of the ladder. He climbs up on the wooden shelf that provides a safe place to stand. He clings to the large pole and quietly plucks through the documents above him. 

A cluster of barkscrolls sticks out to him and he pulls it down. He sits with his back against the pole and begins to sort through his findings. 

‘Lufwood, oakelves, business practices, trockbladder, lucky charms...’ Cowlquape mumbles to himself. ‘Woodtrolls do’s and don’t’s, woodtroll customs...’ he tucks a few of the barkscrolls away out of pure curiosity. Finally, he comes across what he believes he is looking for. 

‘Woodtroll style, simplified,’ he grins, ‘woodtroll hair maintenance and style, learn to tie your hair in woodtroll fashion quickly.’ 

Satisfied after skimming the page for step by step instructions, he makes his way back down the ladder. His satchel is full of new material to read. He pats it as he heads back toward the School of Light and Darkness. 

Once there, he finds a note stuck on a nail on the study door. 

_Once you return, come to my laboratory immediately!_

_-Professor of Darkness_

Cowlquape drops his satchel off in the study and then heads toward the laboratory as he has been instructed. Anxiety tingles under his skin like a colony of woodants as he knocks on the door. 

‘The door is unlocked my lad!’ Comes the wiry shout. 

Cowlquape pushes the door open and peeks in. Twig is lying flat on the table, boredom etched into his features. When Cowlquape walks in he perks up, knocking off a few instruments that had been scattered around him. 

‘Relax my boy, don’t cause a ruckus now,’ the Professor says, patting Twig’s shoulder until he lies flat again. Cowlquape walks over and peers down at his friend. Twig looks back at him hopefully, tilting his head. 

Cowlquape folds his hands together. ‘Once we get back to the study, I’ll work on getting your hair back in place.’ 

Twig reaches out and grasps his hand tightly, and Cowlquape is surprised as he reaches up and gently places a cool palm on the cheek that had been bruised earlier. Cowlquape flinches back, blushing at the attention.

‘Lad, I do believe I’ve made a momentous discovery!’ The Professor pulls Cowlquape away from Twig and thrusts him in front of a microscope. Cowlquape glances at the Professor in surprise before carefully leaning down to the eyepiece lens. ‘At last, by adding rainwater to his blood sample, I have found something neither existing in the water itself or the blood without the water-‘ 

Cowlquape squints, unsure if he is seeing what he is seeing. He makes out small, black, masses of some kind. When he focuses, he sees them spark like tiny fireflies. His mouth falls open as the Professor crowds his space in order to look into the microscope again. 

‘Is that... normal, sir?’ 

‘It’s storm particles, my lad!’ The Professor enthused. Cowlquape’s question was left hanging as he nodded along.

‘The storm itself has fused her own cells with his, and the easiest way to know this is how, rainwater collected recently, causes him to glow, you see?’ 

Cowlquape looks on in awe as the Professor of Darkness closes the large feathery curtains over the domed window and makes his way back to Twig’s table. There, he takes a drenched rag and squeezes it out over Twig’s torso. As the water droplets fall onto his skin, they spark and then seep in. 

‘That’s...’ Cowlquape gasps. ‘That’s amazing! But what does this all mean? Is he going to be like this forever?’ 

The Professor of Darkness shakes his head, stroking his beard quietly for a moment. 

‘Only time will tell, my lad. But to think Twig here is part of the storm is something entirely unheard of! I must write down my findings now. You and Twig are allowed to leave.’ 

Cowlquape helps Twig off of the table, mind boggled. 

Twig looks at him meaningfully, and practically drags him to the study. 

Once there, Cowlquape retrieves the barkscroll and is about to tell Twig to come to him, when Twig appears and grips his shoulder firmly.

Cowlquape looks up at him with a quirked eyebrow, as the barkscroll is taken from him and set down elsewhere. 

‘Twig...?’ He implores, witnessing this strange behavior for the first time. Twig’s hand trails down Cowlquape’s arm and then grips his hand. Cowlquape’s mouth falls open as their fingers are threaded between them. Twig pulls him toward the unlit stove, and points to the rug. 

Cowlquape slowly and unsurely sits down, looking up at Twig in question. Twig then moves over to the stove, seemingly trying to light a log. He is still bare from the waist up. Cowlquape can see the indentions of his spine on his back as he squats there and clumsily attempts to light the stove. 

Eventually, Cowlquape takes pity and scoots forward on his knees. He takes the flint and steel and slowly demonstrates how to strike them. Twig watches acutely and then takes them from him to try himself. After a few jerky attempts there is a spark and the stove door is clanked shut.

Cowlquape feels pride flutter in his chest. _Or was it even pride?_ As he and Twig sit back amiably on the rug. 

‘What is this all about?’ Cowlquape asks quietly. 

Twig looks at him slowly, soft yet sharp features highlighted in indigo light from the stove. He reaches up, and Cowlquape’s heart pounds as he gently places his palm on his cheek. Cowlquape closes his eyes, pressing into it, somehow knowing that it was alright that Twig had seen his weakness. He frowns gently. Was Twig trying to make him feel better? Cowlquape opens his eyes in wonder. Maybe Twig thinks Cowlquape likes sitting next to the stove? Maybe Twig was more aware than he let on. 

‘Thank you, Twig.’ Cowlquape pats his knee gently. Twig stares at him openly, green eyes doused in affection that made Cowlquape feel sick to his stomach yet giddy at the same time. Cowlquape is scared to act on any feelings he may have. Twig isn’t in his right mind, and to act this way with another boy is... 

He pulls away sharply, guilt eating him away inside.

Afterward, Twig is positioned in front of Cowlquape, who sits on one of the hanging armchairs, slowly but surely tying Twig’s hair back up into tufts. He hums gently, glad that Twig is so good at being still. Cowlquape is relieved that Twig is facing the opposite direction, because Cowlquape is sure his distress was showing clear as day in his expressions. His heart twinges every now and then as he wonders what might’ve happened had he taken the invitation Twig had given him earlier. If he had leaned in and made the connection. 

He sighs gently. 

Twig lies his head against Cowlquape’s knee as Cowlquape ties a tuft on the side of his head. He strains his eyes toward the far window, seeing and hearing things he wouldn’t have been able to explain to another fourthling. 

Cowlquape flinches as he feels the weight on his leg, skin tingling where Twig’s forehead presses against it. 

After a slow and calm hour of working, Cowlquape looks at everything he had accomplished, and claps happily. 

Twig looks like Twig again. 

‘Alright, Twig, what do you think?’ He hands Twig the handheld looking glass so he can see himself. 

Twig recoils, but not because of his hair. He begins to pinch at his eyebrows and ears in wonder. Cowlquape watches on in curiosity, laughing at the faces Twig is making at himself. 

‘What’s wrong, Twig?’ Cowlquape asks, tilting his head. The mirror is moved until Cowlquape sees his own reflection. He realizes his bruise has become purple and evident and his lip is stained red from blood. He blanches and looks away. 

Twig continues to stare at himself until he gets bored. He drops the mirror and moves to the window. 

Cowlquape smiles sadly as he brings Twig his robe. Twig still needs help getting it on. 

Afterwards, Cowlquape sits down near the stove and begins to read the rest of the barkscrolls he had amassed that afternoon. He leans his head on his hand and gets lost in the words scribbled on the page.


	6. Curiosity

Sometime during Cowlquape’s preoccupation with his barkscrolls, he feels a sudden shift of energy graze his back and along the nape of his neck. He twitches backwards, stiff from his quiescent absorption in the reading material. 

He is not surprised to find Twig hovering over his shoulder, lost yet task-driven as he peers at the moth and worm bitten bark in Cowlquape’s hands. His pointed nose twitches by what Cowlquape believes to be habit, and suddenly he’s squatting down and thrusting a finger toward the page. 

Cowlquape sees the pad of his forefinger hit the smudgy chalk that outlines the shape of a banderbear. He looks back at Twig curiously, and then at the page. 

‘Banderbears?’ He says, flattening the page a bit so Twig can get a better look. Twig nods enthusiastically, and his hands are braced on Cowlquape’s shoulders as he sits completely on the ground behind the lad. Cowlquape bites his lip, the proximity doing nothing to calm the nerves he had worked himself into beforehand. 

‘Read.’ Came the breathy plea, bouncing straight off of Cowlquape’s cheek as it reaches him. 

‘You want me to _read_?’ Cowlquape wonders aloud, taken aback by the idea. No one has ever asked him such a thing. 

There is silence behind him but Twig jostles him through the hands still on his shoulders and Cowlquape decides to start from the beginning.

‘Patience, Twig!’ He twittered, feeling an excited vibration through the older boy’s palms. He clears his throat for good measure, and begins reading. 

Twig is slumped against him by the time Cowlquape has gotten to the last paragraph on the barkscroll. His chin presses somewhere against Cowlquape’s shoulder blade and his eyes just barely peek over his shoulder in order to follow Cowlquape’s moving finger along the words.

Cowlquape feels his cool breath on the back of his ear and he shivers, skin pricking. He folds the barkscroll up and turns to Twig. Twig’s green eyes are glassy as he is awoken from his reverie. Cowlquape reaches to the side and slides his barkscroll back into his satchel. 

He tries his best to ignore the weight of the other boy on his waist, he really does. The nimble fingers that gripped the folds of robes under his rib cage were nothing more than his cincture tightening with his movement, he told himself. But there was nothing to do with the clingy boy as he tried to stand up. What was he? A mother with a child who couldn’t walk yet? 

He laughs at this, looking down at how Twig’s fingers loop into the belt around his waist. He raises an eyebrow, placing his gaze on the Sub-Professor of Light, who is now holding onto his calf dependently. 

‘Twig, why are you holding onto me like this?’ Cowlquape says, voice becoming higher the longer Twig holds on. 

There is a moment where Twig looks up at him and Cowlquape suddenly feels an itch in his chest, the urge to sit back down and be embraced, but then Twig’s hands slip away and instead go to the satchel. Cowlquape watches attentively as Twig takes out a few barkscrolls and looks over them slowly, like a child being given a toy for the first time. 

Cowlquape reties his cincture after the fiasco, aiming to let Twig have his way with the barkscrolls while he heads down to get them lunch. Twig sneeks off to the window with the banderbear barkscroll, not really reading it, just holding it against his chest.

Cowlquape looks on, confused yet fond of the other boy all the same. He closes the study door behind him and heads down to the mess hall. 

***

_ Twig wondered out of bed. His socked feet shuffled along the cool ground, catching on some of the uneven chipped stones. The blue world around him was silent besides the whispers of wind and rain outside the shiny glass window. They spoke to eachother like old time friends as Twig walked. He was rather cold, he realized. _

_He had been resting before now, stretched out in the bed like he was parawinging. _ Parawinging? _ Where had that word come from? _

_He carefully crept over to the cot that was positioned near the door. The dusty study was spacious so he didn’t have to dodge much or tread carefully. He only had to be quiet. _

_He sat down on the edge of the cot testily, making sure it wasn’t going to squeak or jostle the other occupant too much. His eyes scanned silently over the sleeping figure of his caregiver. His shoulder was uncovered, and his loose under clothes gave way to his gently curved collarbone. Twig looked on in awe as Cowlquape shifted in his sleep._

_His curiosity was piqued as he heard a gentle sound come from the other boy. He leaned over him and stared down with a tilted head, green eyes scanning over the golden locks that sat atop the lad’s forehead. Tendrils of dandelion fell across the boy’s face. He had taken a bath earlier. Twig could sense the shift of aroma as he had walked back into the laboratory to retrieve him. His hair was damp and his skin had a new, attractively pristine gleam to it. Twig had felt something in him whirr to life as he had stared at the lad, something flowed through his veins unnamed and unrestricted. _

__

__

_Cowlquape’s eyelashes fluttered, and for a moment Twig snapped out of his thoughtful adoration. He wondered how the other boy would react if he were to wake up, and see Twig above him. Would he gasp and blush at the attention? Would he be upset and startled and tell Twig to go back to his bed?_

_Twig swallowed, tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth in suspense._

_But no, Cowlquape remained asleep, peaceful and unaware. _

_Twig felt his body move on its own. He lifted up the sheet that lie loosely over the lad, and moved under it. He felt the back of his foot graze Cowlquape’s warm leg, and his stomach press against his elbow. He just wanted to be closer. He missed something, he craved it. Something warm and genuine, something so unlike how he felt now._

_Cowlquape was a heavy sleeper. Twig found this to be true as he settled in against him. The cot was small, but he’d rather let the boy sleep than move him to the bigger bed. _

_‘Twig,’ came the mumbled, nasally sound from the lad. A voice only someone more asleep than awake could make. Sky above, the voice made Twig’s skin tingle. There were no other utterances. He lie on his back, Cowlquape on his side, closer to the wall._

_At first Twig thought he could handle just lying there next to him. But the velvety skin of Cowlquape’s shoulder caught his eye. He leaned forward until his nose was pressed against the collar of Cowlquape’s underclothes. He took a deep breath, swallowing the smell of earth and soap. _

_Cowlquape’s shoulder clenched in his sleep, and Twig realized too late Cowlquape was rolling over. Before he had a chance to get up, Cowlquape was lying on top of him, suddenly very awake and eyes suddenly very wide. _

‘Tw-Twig?’ Cowlquape splutters, looking down between them to where their stomachs are pressed together. Twig glances up at him innocently. Cowlquape realizes that they are in a rather peculiar position, and he quickly rolls back off of the other, face red.

‘Sorry, I didn’t know you were there.’ He stares holes in the wall as he replays the compromising situation they had just been in. 

Twig moves behind him, and Cowlquape can sense him getting up. He sighs thankfully, hoping to put the whole thing behind them. 

Then there were hands underneath him, scooping him up like you scoop an egg out of a frying pan. He blanches, yelping as his clings to Twig. 

‘Hey-‘ he gasps, looking up at the older boy with questioning eyes. He is placed on the canopied four-poster with more strength than he thought the frail older boy could manage. His bottom lip is perpetually stuck between his teeth as he sits in the large bed. Twig stares him down for a while, green eyes sparkling. Then he climbs into bed himself, laying with his arms and legs spread, as usual. 

Cowlquape rubs his temple, falling back onto one of the feathered pillows with a sigh. After a moment, he uproots the so far unused sheets and bedspread from the corners where they are tucked, and burrows underneath them, just wanting to get back to sleep. 

Twig sits up curiously, like a pet who watches its owner do everything. Cowlquape turns to him and lifts up the cover so he can join him underneath. Twig slips in beside him, silent and thoughtful. Cowlquape resituates his pillow and then gives a resolute huff, falling asleep almost immediately. 

*** 

In the morning, Cowlquape awakes with arms around him once again. He nudges Twig with his elbow, squeezing out of his grip. He stretches until his body is awake. The arms slip away from his middle as he rubs the rest out of his face, glad there was no sun outside to sting his eyes. 

Twig yawns loudly from behind him, and Cowlquape can hear the creak of the bed as he stands up, moving to the large window. Droplets of water collide with the glass, fat drops rolling down the curve of it. 

Cowlquape looks at the silhouette of his friend, wanting to just lie in bed all day instead of getting up. He didn’t have to go to classes anymore or run about fulfilling menial tasks for his upperclassmen. He falls back onto the bed, a large sigh leaving his lips.

Twig is studiously trained on the sky outside. Cowlquape lies on his stomach with his hands bracing his face. He watches the older boy’s eyebrows furrow sometimes and then relax others. He smiles to himself, suddenly imagining the feeling of being wrapped in his arms. His cheeks color as his mind delves into the topic, and he sinks his teeth in a knuckle to distract himself. 

He hops up and looks for his satchel, shivering in the cold air of the bedchamber. He retrieves a barkscroll, and when he turns around, runs straight into Twig. 

He is not surprised. He takes a step back, looking up into Twig’s face. Twig’s lips are pulled tight, and Cowlquape feels something gather in his chest as Twig holds up a robe.

Cowlquape’s eyes widen in awe as the robe is handed to him. He grins up at Twig, touched by the thoughtfulness. It amazes Cowlquape how fast Twig is learning to regain kindliness. 

‘Thank you, Twig.’ Cowlquape beams happily and slips the robe on, immediately warming up. Twig is still watching him as his head pushes through the neck of the robe.

Cowlquape searches for Twig’s own robe as recompense. He finds it hanging on one of the robe hooks on the wall. He brings it over to Twig, who knows the drill by then. The article is pulled over his head and Cowlquape helps him get his arms through. They stand like that for a while, Cowlquape’s hands lingering on the end of Twig’s sleeves. 

‘I suppose I’m going to read, if you want to do something in particular, tell me.’ Cowlquape pats Twig’s shoulder and then sits near the window, where the diluted light of the sun behind the clouds provides visibility. 

Twig sits down next to him, neck craned so he could still see out of the window but remain sitting next to his caregiver. Cowlquape feels his heart beat at the almost thoughtless action, feeling rather special. 

After a while, Twig lies his head backwards on the window sill, mouth open. Cowlquape laughs at his silly expression, drawing Twig out of his own mind. He looks at the other curiously, unsure of what had happened yet liking the way Cowlquape’s eyes closed as he laughed, his smile being too large for his cheeks. 

Cowlquape takes a deep breath, looking back at his barkscroll with the remnants of a simper on his face. Twig goes back to looking out of the window upside-down, hand involuntarily resting between them, palm up. 

Cowlquape feels Twig’s hand against his leg and looks down, seeing the rough, scarred fingers of someone who has seen a lot of physical endeavor throughout their life. He feels his own hand jump, an urge rising in him. His cheeks color like red dye dropped in water, or the spilling of wine on a map. He feels adolescent in his wistfulness, peeking out of the corner of his eye to make sure Twig cannot see his turmoil. 

His hand slowly leaves the barkscroll, heart pounding in the background as he places his smaller hand ontop of Twig’s. Twig’s face remains to the sky as Cowlquape threads their fingers, feeling the roughness of his skin. Cowlquape lets out a breath, tears rising to his eyes as he comes to terms with how he feels. 

It’s wrong, and he knows it is. Liking another boy. But when Twig’s hand tightens around his, it feels as if the fear and shame are sent down the drain.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this!


End file.
